


Io Sono Tuo Prigioniero

by Nana_41175



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond (Movies)
Genre: Drama, Enemies to Lovers, Heavy Angst, M/M, Q being bossy and bad-ass, Romance, Shock Collars, captivity issues
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-07
Updated: 2020-02-06
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:35:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22160416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nana_41175/pseuds/Nana_41175
Summary: "Io sono tuo prigionerio," he whispered. "I am your prisoner."Prompt: Bond wakes up in a Spectre facility and finds that he’s had a shock-collar put on him. He meets a boffin who’s the one holding the remote. It turns out that Q wants the fuck out of this nightmare organization and he knows that he won’t make it with hacking skills alone, so Bond’s going to go with him and deal with Spectre’s more physical threats. The deal? Get Q to a safe location and Q will take the collar off. Can Q and Bond escape a hostile environment and learn to work together? Can they ever truly trust each other with the power imbalance between them?
Relationships: James Bond/Q
Comments: 48
Kudos: 109





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Hey everyone! Happy New Year! New year, new fic! The prompt was from one of MI6 Cafe's Prompt Exchange entries. This fic is going to be addressing some tough issues, but I hope you will enjoy! Comments are very welcome, as always!

007 stumbled through the labyrinthine corridors, the harsh, white light overhead unsparing. He was fully exposed, with no place to hide.

A lab rat, he’d been called.

He wondered just how much time he had before they got to him. Certainly, they were on to him. There must be a tracker embedded in the collar latched around his neck. At least ten minutes must have passed since he’d knocked that guard unconscious and taken his gun. Alarms must be sounding somewhere. He was amazed that he’d got this far and there was no other option but to forge ahead.

This section was dimly familiar and there wasn’t much to go on other than instinct. He could only hope it led somewhere, anywhere but the prison within the bowels of this facility where he’d been kept and tortured, swiftly and efficiently via the accursed neck collar. If he were to die, let it be said he’d died trying to escape.

He’d lost track of time. The minutes had melded into hours, the hours into days, with pain being his constant companion until he'd decided to conform himself to the new set of rules. From there, it was only a matter of time until they made a mistake in letting their guard down around him.

Now here he was, at the end of the long white tunnel with a closed door and an electronic keypad.

It was the end of the road.

Yet the door merely slid open when he placed his hand on its smooth surface, heeding a voice command that was not his.

“Enter,” the voice said softly in an accent that 007 knew like the back of his hand. It had startled him, the first time he’d heard it here, in the heart of a ruthless terror organization.

A distinctively posh, English accent.

He entered the room and there stood the goddamned traitor with his back to him— lithe and slender, unmistakably and entirely British right up to his ties and cardigans, those impossible checkered trousers.

The bastard who put the collar on him.

_You call your Quartermaster Q, do you not? Well, this is our own Q right here…_

Cold fury thrumming through him, 007 raised the gun and pointed it at that dark, tousled head.

He did not feel the pain this time, but the gun fell from suddenly nerveless fingers and he was on his knees without his knowing how he got there.

Stunned.

The bespectacled young man turned to him, his expression mild. His next words came as a surprise.

“Took you long enough,” he said with a small sigh. “For a moment there I thought I’d have to go down to the dungeons and drag you up here myself.”

Panting slightly, still speechless, 007 continued to gaze at this otherworldly creature as he came to stand in front of him, holding a small gadget that 007 recognized as the remote control for his collar.

“Do you see this?” said the young man. “By now, you must be familiar with what it does, its settings. Yes? Very good. In the past few days, I trust that you have learned the merits of obedience. Now listen to me very carefully because we do not have much time.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Notes:** The prologue was too short, so here's more! The incident with Bond in Bregenz references Quantum of Solace's opera scene. Enjoy, and do let me know what you guys think!

* * *

_He’s mine now._

007’s eyes snapped open, reality rushing back in along with the pain as he came awake abruptly. It took great effort just to turn his head a fraction to the side. That was all he was capable of doing for the moment as he realized that he was lying on an examination table. Miraculously, he was not tied down.

His vision cleared, then blurred again before coming back into sharp focus.

The man standing beside him continued to speak in heavily accented English. “Excellent specimen, and quite persistent. Outstandingly so. He’s the only one who managed to keep up with us.”

 _Italian,_ thought 007 vaguely as he squinted at the stranger, with his craggy face and long white hair tied back. The man continued to regard him with friendly interest.

From behind the man came a soft reply, “Quite, sir.”

007 looked up sharply, eyes widening at the sound of the newcomer’s voice; that polished accent.

“Do you not find him terribly familiar?” the man inquired next, still regarding 007 with a keen eye even as he continued to speak to his companion. “Isn’t he the one who stirred up quite a storm at Bregenz two years ago?”

“The very same one, sir, I’m afraid,” replied the young man politely, with a touch of regret. He was British from top to toe as he stepped forward into 007’s range of vision.

Dark hair, pale skin, glasses, and clutching a tablet in one hand. 007 had never seen him before, either, but the boffin would have fit nicely in Cambridge or Oxford.

“All the more reason not to kill him outright, though he is so regrettably rude,” sighed the man, linking his hands in front of him as he gently shook his head. _Tsk, tsk._ “So utterly barbaric, interrupting a performance of Tosca like that.”

007 lifted a corner of his mouth. “The job…comes first,” he said, voice coming out as a croak. “Always.”

“Indeed, 007,” replied the older man, directly addressing him for the first time. “Or should we say, Bond. James Bond. Welcome to my little facility, by the way. You must tell us how you managed to get here. In due time, of course.”

007’s lips moved. “Who…?”

“You may address me as Il Direttore,” said the man, smiling. “You might as well get used to it as you will be staying with us for quite some time. For just how long is entirely up to you. We must teach you some manners, Mr. Bond. We’re quite good at this sort of education.”

He turned to the young man behind him. “Now, this,” he said, gesturing proudly, “is one of my gems. I collect worthy people, you see. Talented people such as yourself. Back home, you call your Quartermaster Q, do you not? Well, this is our own Q right here. He’ll be in charge of you.”

He turned back to 007. “So make yourself at home,” he said. “I am sure we have a lot to talk about in the coming days.”

007’s lips moved, though no sound came out.

“Pardon?” inquired the man as he obligingly leaned in.

007’s hand shot up in an instant, closing around the man’s neck in a biting grip. The next instant, he let go, his body seizing and contorting, his hands closing reflexively on the device he did not realize was wrapped around his neck as pain ripped through him, lightning-fast and exquisite.

“Bravissimo!” the man exclaimed, laughing delightedly as he watched 007 slump back, thoroughly drained. “You make such splendid toys, _caro._ Such a light touch when it comes to your gadgets.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Though I must say these shock collars are quite passé,” the man continued. “Effective, yes, but I’m sure everyone in the organization is familiar with them. Promise me the mind implant will be ready soon?”

“Quite soon, sir,” replied the young man, his tone crisp and efficient as he fixed his gaze on 007. Light glinted off his glasses, making his expression unreadable. “We can test the implant on him, if you like, sir. I dare say he will be able to… take it.”

“Excellent!”

The man laughed again, but it barely registered with 007 as he continued to glare at the young man.

As soon as he had the opportunity, he would make it his first priority to kill the boffin.

Standing there, the young man continued to gaze at him, poised and inscrutable.

That was days ago. Days ago, when 007 had a different definition of what pain meant.

Now, inert and on his knees, he watched as the boffin came toward him, remote control in hand. His body was still numb from the shock that had been administered through the collar, though curiously there was no pain.

He watched in detached astonishment as the boffin leaned down, his glasses free of distracting reflections for once, and he saw for the first time the color of those eyes— bright green and quite somber.

Perhaps his mind had turned to putty as well, because 007 thought he heard the boffin say, “It’s taken me two years to get you here and I want out, Mr. Bond.”

Despite everything, 007's smirk came quite naturally. He opened his mouth and said, voice hoarse, “I’ll take you down, don’t worry. As soon as I can get my hands on you.”

“Get in line, Bond,” the boffin said with maddening calm. “Besides, how will you escape without my help? Don’t tell me. You’ve not thought it through. You thought you could just ram your way out of here? Oh, dear me. The sheer audacity. You've not changed since Bregenz, then. Now, let’s see. Ah. You will need some weapons as soon as you’re able to get back on your feet, which will be in a few minutes. Are you still listening carefully, 007?”

* * *

Here's the [**teaser**](https://nana-41175.tumblr.com/post/190342177131/teaser-for-ch-3-of-my-00q-fic-io-sono-tuo) for the next chapter! XD


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Notes:** Aaand here's the next chapter! Things start to heat up! Enjoy! Thanks always for the kudos and comments. It's always a joy to hear from you guys!

* * *

“I don’t think it would be wise to equip you with anything fancy that you will only lose along the way,” the old Major— Q— had told him just before 007 left for his mission. “And most certainly, you will lose everything along the way before you’re done here, including your clothes. You’ll probably be stripped and searched.”

This, after 007 had eyed the kit provided to him flatly, unimpressed with the typical fare given to normal field agents.

“You will have to discard the earwig after you leave Rome, and from there you are on your own, my boy,” Q had added. “They probably already know you, but we don’t want them learning more about us. They know enough already. Too much, in fact.”

“That won’t be a problem,” 007 had said easily. He knew Italy like the back of his hand.

“No,” Q had agreed. “The problem is whether you’ll be able to bring anything back with you. Or anyone.”

007 had gazed at the elderly Quartermaster with some surprise and noted, perhaps for the first time in a while, the shock of white hair; those weathered hands. These signs of age in his superiors ought to be a reassurance, signifying vast experience and a solid pillar of sound wisdom to lean on. Yet Q had dispelled the notion in what he had to say next.

“The world is moving faster than we can keep up, in directions that defy our expectations. The past two years, especially, were a turning point in how we conduct national defense,” Q had sighed. “Everything that we knew and relied upon, upended. We were blindsided by Quantum. Even before that, I feared there was something else, something bigger looming in the horizon. Or someone.”

“There is no shortage of people with a God complex out there,” 007 had said rather dismissively. “We know what to do with them.” 

“There are always those people,” Q had agreed, “but I’m not talking about them.”

007 had stared at him as Q muttered, “young talent these days has been hard to gauge, and much harder to recruit. You see these brilliant hackers all over who turn out to be in their teens or early twenties and living in the basement of their parents’ house in the US, or Turkey, or wherever, and the others just out of university who get snapped up by the private sector before you can lay a hand on them. In the meantime you have to contend with the cyber threat posed by other nations, not to mention those people with the goddamned complexes. You’ll never believe the scores of young people who have slipped through our fingers. Gone were the days when we have merely to approach and tap on the shoulder of some fresh graduate. We closed in on this lad once who managed to hack into some important government websites; brilliant and novel approach-- he even left us his CV. This sort of thing. The rules of the game have changed, and I’m really getting too old for any of it.”

As if remembering he had an audience, Q had turned back to 007. “It would be good if our adversaries are not equipped with the sort of people who we sorely need on our side. Highly capable people. Don’t you think so?”

“Of course, sir,” Bond had said. "So what happened?"

"What happened to what?"

"The cheeky lad who left you his CV. Did you find him?"

"We tried to recruit him, of course, but we lost him. Just gone without a trace before we could bring him in." 

Bond had given a small grunt that could have meant anything.

“In the course of the past few months, at the end of certain incidents in the field involving you double-O’s, somebody has been leaving a trail of breadcrumbs for us to find online," Q had continued. "We don’t know why they are doing it, but they’re ruthlessly brilliant, not to mention intensely sophisticated— they’ve managed to infiltrate our systems and we couldn’t track them down at all, but they’re out there, somewhere. And with the wrong sort of people.”

“A captive?”

“Perhaps.”

“Or a trap.”

Q had shrugged. “Perhaps,” he’d said again. “And you’re walking straight into the heart of the matter. You know what to do with the ones with the God complex, but as for the other one, do bring them back alive, if you can, and hopefully in one piece.” 

"If they can be brought back at all," 007 had replied, with a hint of a smile as he turned to go.

“And I do hope you won’t underestimate them, 007,” Q had called after him, accurately reading him. “Who knows? You may find yourself in for a surprise once the cards start falling into place.”

To say that he was surprised, thought 007 somewhat ruefully as he looked back on that conversation, was something of an understatement. A huge one.

Because here he was now, with the surprise locked tightly in one arm and with a gun cocked to the man’s head as he backed them against a wall. All around them came gasps as the boffin’s minions stared, some of them stunned, some of them trying vainly to aim devices at 007 and looking bewildered when nothing happened.

“He’s…he’s disabled the collar,” came the boffin’s voice, sounding appropriately strangled and wheezy as 007 kept up the vice-like pressure of his arm around the man’s neck. It gave him quite a bit of satisfaction to do so. “Stay calm, everyone. Just do as he says. Everything is going to be alright.”

“Open the bloody door,” growled Bond as he dug the gun into the man’s temple for emphasis. Glancing down at his hostage, he could see the boffin’s eyes flit briefly closed— whether from intimidation or exasperation, he did not know, but it was quite convincing.

Hands still helplessly raised in front of him, the boffin nodded at the minions. _Do it._

The door slid open with a hiss of air and they emerged into the hallway that led to the lifts, then the garage with the vehicle bays.

_We have roughly twenty minutes to get out,_ the boffin had told him. _Everything around here is going to shut down after that and in case we don’t make it out by the time all systems become non-operational, we’re as good as dead._

“Left,” he heard the boffin mutter. “To your _left.”_

007 made a show of roughly dragging his hostage down the long, impressive line of streamlined vehicles. It was worrisome how this place was easily twice as large and much better stocked than the garages at Q branch.

Everywhere around them, there were the same shocked exclamations and some guns actually aimed at them but not firing; the same bewildered expressions on the faces of the security staff.

_Their firearms can be remotely manipulated to prevent any...workplace accident, but only by two people apart from the Director,_ the boffin had explained. _One of those two includes myself. As for the other one…_

“Mitch?” came a familiar voice, and 007 turned toward the man who was always at the boffin’s side during the past few days when he’d been taken to them. “Are you alright?”

To 007, the man said calmly, reasonably, “Please, put the gun down. Let’s talk.”

_When you see the other one-- the Director’s second-in-command-- do not hesitate to kill him._

Even as the man continued talking, 007 could see the laser points of red trailing up the boffin’s torso, his head. There would be more pinpoints of red on himself, he was certain. When push came to shove, they were not going to spare the boffin.

_“Run,”_ 007 growled as he released the boffin, shoving him roughly aside as he fired at the other man, sending him down. He twisted around and dived for cover behind the vehicles, shots coming so close he could almost feel them disrupting the still, controlled air all around him to rain in sparks against the bulletproof veneers of the cars.

He could not see the boffin, could not ascertain if he’d escaped the storm of bullets, but then there came the screech of a car as a black Ferrari suddenly swerved into view and skidded to a halt just a few feet away from him. The door to the driver’s seat flew open, revealing the boffin, already sliding into the passenger seat as 007 lunged into the car.

The bullets outside barely made a sound in the dark, sealed interior as the boffin nodded at the controls. “Machine guns, if you’d care to use them,” he said, indicating a switch, one of several lining the lighted dashboard.

The car was an amazing feat of engineering, marveled 007 as he followed the boffin’s terse instructions, sending out a spray of bullets as he smoothly maneuvered the car in an arc, turning it around just as the doors to the outer precincts began to open.

“Prepare to leave in three, two, one,” recited the boffin, his voice still cool and controlled, his seatbelt strapped into place. _“Now, 007.”_

The car seemed to fly, its motions so smooth as Bond stepped on the gas. All the while, the boffin kept up a litany of instructions, bringing Bond up to speed with the features of the car as they raced through the massive grounds of the facility with a growing number of vehicles in hot pursuit.

“Who are you?” 007 managed to ask at one point as he glanced at the astonishing young man beside him who, it would seem, had almost single-handedly effected their getaway.

The boffin merely shook his head. “Eyes on the road, Bond,” he warned as he massaged his throat gingerly with one hand. “There are still the main gates to consider before my name can become even remotely relevant to you. And, really, must you grip me so tightly back there?”

"We're not out of the woods yet," Bond agreed. "Make one false move and I can and will dispatch you."

The boffin merely gave a small, derisive snort. "You can," he said, adjusting his glasses, "but you shan't. Not when you've already realized that I'm worth far more to you alive than dead; not to mention the troublesome hold I have over you in the form of that neck collar. Now, Bond, _the gates."_

* * *

Here's the [**teaser**](https://nana-41175.tumblr.com/post/190402276376/teaser-for-ch-4-of-my-00q-fic-io-sono-tuo) for the next chapter! Enjoy!


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Notes:** Here's the next chapter! The Muse is rather in love with this fic right now, and we hope you are enjoying it as well. 

And now, a thawing of relations between the boffin and Bond...

* * *

Bond gazed at the boffin’s sleeping form, sprawled in a heap on the worn and dusty mattress inside the abandoned house they’d managed to find last night. Outside the shutters of the tall windows, there was nothing more menacing than the cicadas, singing up a storm in the sun-drenched stillness of an Italian summer morning.

It had not been easy getting here, yet all things considering, he could not hope for a better outcome.

It had taken hours before they could manage to shake off the last of their pursuers, the car chase finally ending in a huge fireball for their adversaries and the Ferrari plunging into a river after they had ejected themselves from it, the boffin protesting all the way.

It would not do to be seen zipping around the Italian countryside in such a conspicuous vehicle, Bond would have argued, except that it had been obvious that the boffin was already aware of that fact, no matter how much he may scowl and twist his mouth disapprovingly at Bond.

From there, they had gone on foot, in the dark, dodging into a nearby village like fugitives. As Bond had hoped, there were scores of dilapidated buildings in the old village, many of them uninhabited and still housing some furniture and, hopefully, some discarded clothes and other necessities.

The boffin had seen the dusty mattress first in one of the rooms and had a made a beeline for it wordlessly, throwing himself down upon it while Bond had moved to secure the area. He’d ended up spending the night on a chair a few feet away, managing to catch a few hours of sleep despite the uncomfortable hardness of his makeshift resting place. He’d been through worse.

He’d snapped out of a nightmare sometime after daybreak— a nightmare that was partly memory, of the boffin reaching down to examine his collar.

 _There_ , _there,_ the boffin said to him quite gently when Bond bridled reflexively at his touch. _It’s not going to hurt if you’ve been good. Hasn’t he been good, Franz?_

 _He has been for the past few days,_ replied the man who always tailed the boffin. _Finally_.

The boffin gave a small, almost reassuring smile as he glanced back at Bond and said, _there. You see? We did promise to be good if you can be. It’s now time for an upgrade on the collar, I think._

The young man had not moved much on the mattress since last night, Bond noted as he inspected the sleeping boffin minutely. Doubtless, he was exhausted.

It was hard for Bond to reconcile him as he had been in the dream and in the few hours they’d shared in the car as they made their escape. Only that he could tell that one was false and one was true, and in the car, the boffin had been tense and terse as he sat, plastered to his seat. He’d seemed almost terrified. Clearly, he’d realized that he was no longer in control of the situation— he’d left that behind in the facility that he’d just sabotaged; yet he was filled with relentless purpose, barking out orders when it seemed Bond might stray from whatever plan he had in mind, and that was one instance too many in the long drive ahead of them. Their bickering had been almost non-stop as Bond had been loath to obey him; yet in the end, he had. More or less.

However else Bond may feel about this person, this version of the man rang truer to him than the caricature of a villainous scientist in the white chamber, filled with so much pain.

Still, now that the immediate dangers had passed, Bond would have given much to give the man a sound thrashing, but there was more at stake. The smug little bastard had got it right when he’d said he was worth far more to Bond alive, and that would mean Bond would have to bring him along, quite intact, as he began the process of exfiltration.

It was going to be painfully slow, given that they had basically got out with just the clothes on their backs.

And whatever the boffin may be carrying in his pockets, thought Bond as his eyes roamed sharply, assessingly, over the boffin’s inert form.

Before anything else, there was something of the boffin that he needed to get his hands on.

* * *

The house was secure as he made a circuit around it, its kitchen crude, with no electricity and the water running out of its pipes rusty and undrinkable. There was, however, a well in the backyard, from where they had drank the night before, too thirsty and tired to care about the water quality. Apparently the water was all right, to judge from their present state, and further exploration yielded the pleasant finding that the house was just yards away from a shallow stream.

He came back from the cool stream refreshed, body dripping and gratified, the clothes on his back already drying in the midday heat, to find the boffin was just beginning to stir.

Bond stood a few feet away and he had to stop himself from laying a hand on the git and shaking him awake rudely. He did not know what he might do if he touched him. Instead, he watched as the boffin snuffled, coming gradually awake on his own, all loose-limbed and sleep-tousled on the mattress.

“Morning,” drawled Bond, smiling as the boffin looked up blearily, blinking at him for a moment in confusion.

The drowsiness quickly left those green eyes as alertness snapped in. “Good morning,” returned the boffin cautiously.

Bond was aware of something shifting between them, ever since last night and more so now, when this man had decided to place himself in Bond's hands.

Bond made sure he had the boffin’s full attention as he lifted the small remote that controlled his collar and dangled it rather playfully in between two fingers. He said casually, “oh. Found this beside you while you were out like a light. I hope you don’t mind…”

He let it drop to the floor. There was a loud crunch as his boot came down, grinding the small device to bits under his heel.

He looked back up and gave the young man a wide smile.

“Oh.” The boffin seemed to relax as he leaned back on his elbows, as if to say, _Is that all?_

Then, _“shock.”_

The soft command was barely out of the boffin’s mouth and Bond was on his knees again with a grunt. Somehow he could not help the smile remaining on his lips as the boffin shrugged his slim shoulders. 

“It can also be voice-activated,” he said, voice mildly apologetic. "I love it when I am underestimated, Bond. It's going to make the fulfillment of my tasks so much easier." 

Bond gave a small scoff. “Well, then, given how you’re such a heavy sleeper, I’ll just have to wait until you’re out again before I launch myself at you next time,” he promised. “I’ll make sure to gag you.”

The boffin smiled at him rather impishly before letting out a small yawn. He may have been terrified last night, but he certainly seemed quite at ease and not overly concerned with Bond. “Maybe,” he said, “but for now, you’ll fetch me breakfast.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Notes:** Here's the next chapter and the sass continues while the mystery surrounding the boffin deepens! Enjoy and do let me know what you think! XD

* * *

Bond managed to get them some eggs, a hank of dry bread and even some cheese made from goat’s milk.

The boffin stared at the impressive spread laid out before him and said, “I hope you didn’t steal all of this.”

Bond replied curtly, “that’s quite rich, coming from a criminal mastermind of your calibre.”

The boffin lifted his chin at him. “I’m not a criminal mastermind. I’m—”

“Yes?” Bond prompted when the boffin suddenly subsided, averting his gaze from him.

When it was clear that the boffin was not going to say anything more, Bond continued, “I managed to charm an old couple down the street for the food. It won’t do you any harm to ask nicely around these parts. They even gave me some coffee to drink then and there. It's just too bad I can't bring away a cup for you without more questions being asked.”

“And this?” the boffin queried, picking at a pair of old, clean shirts in Bond’s hands.

“Well,” said Bond, his tone changing. “They were hanging conveniently on a clothes line when I was passing by.”

A deep dimple appeared on the side of the boffin’s face as he eyed Bond wryly.

“Hey, I did this for you, in case you want to carry on being obnoxious,” said Bond, almost defensively. “I got you these because you can’t go traipsing around the Italian countryside in high summer dressed in your tie and cardigan.”

The boffin twisted his mouth at him but declined to comment further.

“And no, breakfast isn’t ready,” Bond interjected as the boffin made to reach for the bread tentatively with grimy hands. “The eggs need to be boiled first, so I suggest you wash yourself down by the stream and be back here in ten minutes.” 

It took the boffin a while to get used to the water. Bond watched him as he crouched gingerly by the stream to wash his face, his hands, looking as though he might bolt any minute at the slightest sound or movement.

He actually jumped when Bond said from behind him, “don’t worry. I’ve got you covered. You can wade in.”

“Christ, Bond,” he muttered while Bond gave him a wide smile. Bond found that he rather enjoyed bossing the boffin around, startling him. Out here, he was as tetchy as a strung-out cat, all smug self-assurance gone.

“Go on,” said Bond, nodding at the stream. “The water is very nice.”

“Not with you standing there, hovering over me,” snapped the boffin.

“What, you’re shy?” goaded Bond as he raised a sun-bleached eyebrow at the younger man. “It’s not like there’s anything to see.”

The boffin actually coloured at that. “Just boil those eggs, why don’t you, Bond,” he said irritably as he made to pull off the dusty cardigan.

Bond smirked as he turned away. “Yes, sir.”

He found a pot in the kitchen and headed back outside to fill the container with some water from the well and to start a fire by the stream. By then, the boffin was splashing around awkwardly in the shallow water before he stopped to watch Bond.

“The stove in the kitchen is ruined,” Bond remarked as if in explanation. “Might as well boil the eggs out here.”

 _And to keep an eye on you,_ he did not need to say out loud.

The boffin seemed reassured. He nodded briefly before he brought his attention to wringing the water out of his shirt and cardigan. He’d been trying to wash them, his every movement flimsy and uncertain, as though this were the first time he’d ever done anything like this, any of this. He cringed at every small sound.

Standing there, waist-deep in water, thin shoulders hunched over defensively, the boffin looked so painfully young, it seemed to Bond. And scared, and very much out of his depth, now that he was out of the facility that had been his home for so long.

 _Or his prison_ , thought Bond. The picture he had in mind of the boffin was gradually shifting, changing shapes and colors until it resembled nothing of its original form.

It would take time for Bond to trust him, let alone believe in anything he said; yet Bond knew he would tell his story in due time. He would just need to be patient.

The eggs were ready by the time the boffin emerged from the stream, dripping wet as he tried to dry himself as best he could before pulling on the shirt that Bond handed to him. Amusingly, he’d made Bond turn away a bit with a sharp command when he caught Bond’s gaze on him as he got dressed.

 _Cute_ , thought Bond as he handed the boffin his share of breakfast. It was quite unexpected of him to think so when not twenty-four hours ago, he’d hated the man’s guts.

They ate in silence for a while, with nothing but the deafening song of the cicadas in their ears. The minutes ticked by, the boffin seemingly lost in thought as Bond’s gaze raked over him.

“We need to get going as soon as we can,” Bond said. “I’ve asked around. We’re in Lacedonia, and it will be miles before we can get to a town where I can secure a contact to extract us.”

The boffin nodded. “I won’t be surprised if they’ll send some drones out, looking for us. They probably have already, though right now they’ve got quite a handful of problems to contend with in their systems. I just hope your people have latched onto them the moment everything went to hell last night, Bond— are you even listening to me?”

Bond said nothing. Instead he reached out a hand to flick at the open collar of the boffin’s oversized shirt.

“What are you doing,” squawked the boffin, moving hastily to close the collar with one hand, but Bond had already seen his neck, and the scars.

After a moment, the boffin let go of his collar. “Yes,” he said, his voice defiant. “You’re not the only one. They put a collar on me, too. For two years, in fact. So I do know how it feels.”

“They took that long to break you,” Bond remarked.

“Oh, no,” said the boffin. “I broke quickly and easily enough. They just kept it on until they found another way to make sure I’m entirely at their mercy. As you have witnessed firsthand, they can be exquisitely cruel.”

“What does that mean?”

“There are some collars that are invisible, Bond,” was all the boffin said. “Just because you can’t see them doesn’t mean they’re not there.”

“You mean they’ve injected something into you,” said Bond. “An implant, or something traceable they’ve embedded into—”

“No, no,” said the boffin. “That’s too easy. I’ve already inactivated or reconfigured whatever could be traced. Including your collar.”

“Then what is it?”

“Seeing as you won’t be able to do anything about it, you need not concern yourself with me,” the boffin said. “Right now, your task is to get us out of here. I meant what I promised you in the car, Bond. I will remove your collar in exchange for your cooperation in getting me somewhere safe.”

“I mean to get you home,” said Bond, his tone hard and implacable. “You’re British. Britain is where you belong.”

“I’m not going back there,” said the boffin, shaking his head.

“You’ve got information, valuable knowledge that you owe your country—”

“I was abducted on British soil and my government did nothing to help me, or find me,” the boffin cut in, harshly. “They didn’t even know I was gone. I owe those people _nothing.”_

Bond paused and tried another route. “Where are you going to be safe, hmm? Everyone is going to be out looking for you. Just how long will you last, always on the run? Like it or not, you engaged a British agent to help you out of that hellhole. I won’t be able to keep you safe anywhere else.”

“Somewhere in Switzerland. I’ve got the coordinates. I’ll work it out from there. All you need to do is drop me off, and—”

“Easier said than done when we’ve got nothing on us. And even if we manage to pull it off, I can’t pretend that I’ve never met you,” said Bond. “After everything I’ve seen you do, what you’re capable of. If I can’t let you go, do you think they will be any different?”

“Let’s work together and get the hell out of here first,” said the boffin as he glared at Bond. “There is no use speculating on any kind of future if we fail at our escape now, and believe you me, while we are here, there is nowhere safe for us hide from the likes of Marco Sciarra.”

Bond stared at him blankly.

“You’ve not heard of the name, have you?” said the boffin. “Not surprising, really. Just like you’ve never heard of Spectre, or Robert Mitchell, which happens to be my name. None of that is relevant right now and none of it shall gain any relevance until we manage to get out. And…”

“What?” said Bond as the boffin trailed off.

“We have only roughly three days to do so,” said the boffin, “before my body self-destructs.” 


End file.
